Let the Children Play
by Moonpuppy
Summary: A/U. Wizarding, vampires, and lycanthropes are all considered the norm. How much different is such a society.
1. PreLegalization 1964

Let the Children Play  
  
Hush little baby  
  
Don't say a word  
Daddy's gonna buy you a mocking-bird  
  
And if that mocking bird don't sing  
  
Daddy's gonna buy you a diamond ring  
  
* * *  
  
"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hollowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our treaspasses, as we forgive those who treaspass against us. Lead us not unto temptation, and deliever us from evil, for Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory, Forever and Ever. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen," the boy prayed, crossing himself as he said the final line and crawling into bed.  
  
His mother walked in then, smiling. She went to his bedside, brushing aside a strand of dirty-blonde hair that had fought its way to rest against his eyes and bent down to kiss his forehead.  
  
"I heard you praying, Remus."  
  
"I just felt like it would be a good idea tonight, for some odd reason."  
  
She smiled wider. "It's always a good idea. Don't ever lose faith, honey."  
  
"I won't, Momma. No matter what happens." She nodded, tucking him in and turning off the lamp by his bedside nightstand. She started to leave, but he called out, "Momma?"  
  
Like any mother, she turned back to her child,concerned. "Can you leave the window open? It's really hot in here tonight." Her worries dismissed, she let out the breath she didn't realize she had taken and crossed the small room to open up the screenless window.  
  
He rolled over, pulling the sheets tighter to himself.  
  
The night was warm, but that was not the only concern. Sylvia Lupin had every right to worry. And little Remus Lupin, four years old, had every right to pray.  
  
* * *  
  
Sylvia was crying, a female police officer comforting her as the others searched the boy's room for clues.  
  
"Has this been a concern before?" one officer, a hardened man with long gray hair and small, paranoid black eyes named Officer Moody asked, taking out a notepad.  
  
"No, not since I moved out of London. I thought... Maybe Remus would be safer here..."  
  
"You moved out here for your son's safety? Was his health a concern?"  
  
Sylvia shook her head. "No. Not his health. It's... His father. His father was..."  
  
"His father was a concern?" Moody said this almost nonchalantly, taking down everything in the room. Sylvia just nodded. "We had two boys. I was a mythology major, so I named them after Remus and Romolus, the founders of Rome. We never married, we were never in love. We just met in a bar one night and things led to me being pregnant with twins..."  
  
"Date rape?" Moody offered.  
  
"Consensual." Moody wrote this down."Anything else we should know?"  
  
"He... We were never a couple..."  
  
"We have that much down."  
  
"...But I refused to let him near our boys. I just didn't trust him for some reason. Just an intuition, you understand?" Moody nodded, and she continued. "I raised them for a while, by myself. But three months ago, he came back. He claimed he'd gotten a gift. A very strong gift. And he wanted to give it to his boys. But they were only four years old, I didn't want him near my children. And so, I called Scotland Yard to make sure he couldn't come near us. But somehow, he managed to sneak past them that night. He broke into our house and kidnapped Romulus.  
  
"We searched for three days before we found it."  
  
"It?" Moody asked, looking up from his pad to lift one eyebrow quizically at her. She choked back a sob, nodding.  
  
"It. We found his body only. It was bleeding from all sorts of cuts, and it was broken and battered. The autopsy... The autopsy revealed the boy had been beaten and raped for at least two of the three days, had not been fed in the previous forty-eight hours, and had been subjected to a blood transfer of some sort. When they matched the semen from the rape, it was his father's."  
  
"His own father did that?" Moody showed a sliver of disgust beneath his hard mask of nonchalance. Sylvia nodded again.  
  
"That's why I moved. They- Scotland Yard- couldn't find him, so I took Remus and moved here. I thought he'd be safer here. But now..."  
  
"You believe it was the father, then?" Sylvia nodded again. "So, do you think that the boy may have a chance if we start to search now?" Sylvia nodded once more. Moody put the pen and paper away. "Right then. Fletcher, how did the perpetrator get in?" Officer Fletcher, who had been assigned the window, read off his paper. "Perp came in from the window here. He jumped through or wore gloves, because there's no sign of finger printson the windowpane. We assume he landed here-" Moody stopped him with a hand guesture. "You believe a man jumped from the ground to the second floor?"  
  
"It seems unlikely, I know sir, but if you look here, about a foot away from the window, you can see a sign of an impact of somesort. He wore steel- toed boots, as seen by the indentions here-"  
  
Moody walked over to where Fletcher was standing. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph..."  
  
"After the perp jumped inside, he walked over to the bed, obviously quietly because Ms. Lupin did not know the boy was gone until this morning, and used this to sedate him." Fletcher handed Moody a plastic bag containing a rag. Moody opened it, sniffing.  
  
"Chloroform. Sweet Jesus, he used chloroform on a sleeping baby."  
  
"Yes, sir. We see no signs of struggle. However, this also supports our "Jump" theory, because the sheets and the rag all have fingerprints."  
  
Moody looked at Fletcher with an angry glare in his eyes. "You're saying, a man jumped twelve feet straight up, landed inside a room standing up-right after coming through a three-by-four foot opening, walked over to the boy's bed, poured chloroform on a rag, pressed it to the boy's face to keep him from waking up, then jumped out the window again while carrying a sixty pound child, all without making a single sound?"  
  
Fletcher nodded. "The soundless belief came from Officer Figg's earlier questioning of  
  
Ms. Lupin, in which she said, quote, 'The walls are rather thin, and my bedroom is right next to Remus. I sleep lightly, the softest noises can snap me awake. That comes in handy when you worry about your boy,' end quote."  
  
Moody looked impresses at Fletcher's investigation, but with a hint of doubt in his voice he said, "That theory is pretty far-fetched, Fletcher."  
  
Fletcher sighed. "I know, sir, but it's the one that makes the most sense."  
  
* * *  
  
For perhaps the first time in Alastor Moody's twenty-seven year police career, he wanted Scotland Yard's help. He wanted Scotland Yard, the American Federal Bereau of Investigation, every private detective and manhunter and mercenary he could find. He was determined not to let this boy go.  
  
Moody had never let a case go by unsolved. He was once Scotland Yard's top investigator and police analyst, handling everything from stolen jewelry to triple homicides. But they had let him go after he had proven that he was completely untrusting of everyone and paranoid well past help. Truth be told, many of those he worked under wanted him gone long before he had been let off, because his methods were unconventional. He'd taken Fletcher, a twenty-two year old rookie he'd taken under his wing, along with him when he left, and he moved his base to another in London, where he took cases Scotland Yard deemed unimportant. Or, in Ms. Lupin's case, from people who didn't quite trust them. Moody, no matter what else was said, go the job done, and for the past eight years had been getting it done without help from anyone but his four man team.  
  
He wanted that help now.  
  
Fletcher walked up, sighing. "Grimwald's been running investigations for the past three hours, and still we have nothing. Usually he has a hundred possibilities in a third the time."  
  
Moody looked over at his most trusted employ. "Fletcher, what kind of man rapes and kills his oldest son, then takes the boy's twin three months later?"  
  
Fletcher shrugged. "I don't know, sir. It's sick."  
  
Moody nodded. "Yeah, it's sick, but I can't shake this feeling that there's more to it. D'you get that?" Fletcher smiled. "Yes, sir. I wonder if we should try the... unconventional methods?"  
  
For the first time all day, Moody smiled. "Now there's the first good idea I've heard in a long time, Fletcher. Yeah, let's try that. Call my old friend Albus first, he'd be much better at it then I would."  
  
"Albus... The man who taught it to you?" Fletcher was amazed.  
  
"Yeah. Take the green box."  
  
Fletcher walked over to Moody's car, opening the trunk. He pulled out the small green leather box he found there, opening it carefully. Inside was a small glowing ball, which he palmed. He began to chant in Latin, focusing his magic to call the man.  
  
* * *  
  
Albus Dumbledore is over a hundred years old, but he looks like he's only in his late sixties. The man is one of the few remaining wizards to date. He knows not all people have a potential for magic, and he searches for those who do to train them. In the past fifty years, he has found a sharp increase in the number of those able to preform it, as well as an increase in demonic activity. He trained many students in his day, but now he decided to deem his students worthy of recognizing and training their own pupils. Alastor Moody had done so while working for Scotland Yard, training Michael Fletcher. After he left, he found Arabella Figg, a post-crisis therapist, and Jeffry Grimwald, a seventeen-year-old computer programer. The final addition came with Kim Wayne, a certified medical student. All of them recieved magical training from Moody, and also learned several forms of martial arts and sharpshooting. Moody wanted the best he could get, and he got it. And Dumbledore was proud. Another of his students, Minerva McGonalgall, had become headminstress of a school she worked at, where she offered any students who had magical potential private tutelige. Poppy Pomfrey had become a doctor, using magic to help heal the most chronic cases. All his students had turned out well- With only one exception.  
  
Thomas Riddle had also taken up students, but not for the better. Dumbledore suspected that was the secret behind both the increase in magical and its demonic equivalent. Yes,  
  
Tom was one to look out for...  
  
He heard the chanting then. A small green ball glowed, and he took it, causing him to travel to a wooded area.  
  
"Mr. Dumbledore, I assume?" a young brunette asked cautiously.  
  
Dumbledore read the tag on his uniform. "Officer Fletcher? Would you be Alastor Moody's Officer Fletcher by any chance?"  
  
The man sighed gratefully. "Yes, sir."  
  
"He has a lot of praise bestowed on you."  
  
"Really? Well, thank you, sir, I had no idea he spoke so hi-"  
  
"That's enough, Fletcher. Go get Grimwald." Fletcher walked off. Moody turned to his former instructer.  
  
"Hello, Albus."  
  
"I would be right to assume this is a serious matter because you felt it necessary to contact me?" Moody sighed.  
  
"A little boy was kidnapped, Albus."  
  
"You've handled such cases before."  
  
"Not like this. The boy was taken from his room, supposidy by his father, through an open window he'd jumped through. No magic was used, not a sound was made. Just in, grab, and out."  
  
"How is this so strange?"  
  
"The boy's window? It was barely more than a square yard. Twelve feet up from the ground, nothing to climb up to it. The walls were thin. There's something wrong there, Albus. And no magic was used."  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "This is really getting to you, Alastor."  
  
"My team has no idea what could have happened! The only lead we have is that the boy's father had taken his twin brother earlier this year. And the boy was beaten and raped, Albus. These boys... They're only babies, Albus, four years old. And I saw the pictures of the first boy's body, thinking it might help us out. I don't want his brother to go through that, Albus. No child deserves that. No person deserves that, much less a child."  
  
"How can I help?"  
  
"I was hoping you could talk to the mother. Get some resonance. I've never been too good at that."  
  
"What can you tell me beforehand?"  
  
"Don't mention we're wizards. The woman's religious- Catholic. Single mother. Already lost one boy, so she's fairly upset about this. I'd say she's about twenty-five, at the most. Lean a little up or down. Nice lady, makes some damned fine tea."  
  
"What should I tell her I am?"  
  
"A situation analyst, one I reccomended to come and help." He agreed, and went to talk to the woman.  
  
* * *  
  
"Get anything?" Moody asked when Dumbledore returned. Dumbledore held up a cookie. Moody sighed. "I meant for the case, Albus."  
  
"Just that the father was also a heavy Catholic, and that he'd gotten a 'Strong gift' he wanted to share with his children. And that he'd had no interest in men before, and certainly none in little boys."  
  
"Is that helpful?"  
  
"Quite. There's only one thing that can give a man that much physical strength and yet so much stealth if the man had any sort of religious faith. The switch in sexual orientation also is a clue. Did you run a scan for demonic energy, Alastor?"  
  
"Demonic? No, why would there be any- What do you think happened, Albus?"  
  
"To put it simply, Alastor, the 'gift' their father recieved was the gift of Lycanthropy."  
  
* * *  
  
There's a light ahead of me. Far up above, near the roof.  
  
I wonder if I can reach it? I wonder if I can fly? If I could just fly away?  
  
It hurts. Why does it hurt? Who is that? That voice, that voice in my ear. It's whispering.  
  
I'm cold.  
  
I feel pain. Lots of pain. Who's there?  
  
Please tell me who's there.  
  
God help me.  
  
I see Mary, holding Jesus, where the light is. It's not that bright.  
  
Is this ...?  
  
* * *  
  
"He's in a church!" Dumbledore said suddenly over a glass of tea at Ms. Lupin's. The others sat there, aghast.  
  
"What do you mean, Mr. Dumbledore?" Sylvia asked quietly.  
  
"The boy's father was religious. What if he never stopped being religious?"  
  
"Preposterous, religious people don't kidnap and rape little boys!" Fletcher growled.  
  
Moody silenced him.  
  
"Actually, a lot of the harshest crimes imaginable have been down by people with religious intent. But still, why do you think the boy's in a church?"  
  
"Because he can see Mary."  
  
"Mary?" Moody asked. Sylvia nodded. "The Virgin Mother, Mary. I would assume you're not Christian, Officer Moody, or you would know that."  
  
"Mary..." He didn't see it. "What do you mean, Mary?"  
  
"Lots of churches have stained glass pictures of Mary. The boy sees a glowing picture of Mary holding Jesus. He's in a church. Ms. Lupin, where did they find the brother's body?"  
  
"In an empty shed."  
  
"Was there a church nearby?" Moody asked, suddenly catching on.  
  
"Yes, St. Peter the Apostle. He was Mark's patron saint."  
  
Dumbledore stood up then, smiling. "Then I believe I've done all you need from me, Alastor. I leave the rest to you."  
  
Moody watched him go, still somewhat confused. Fletcher gasped. "Ms. Lupin, is there a St. Peter's Catholic Church nearby?"  
  
She blinked. "Yes, three of them."  
  
"Three?"Moody started, but Fletcher smiled. "Are any of them for that particular saint?"  
  
And that's when Moody got it.  
  
* * *  
  
"So, you think that he does all his dirty work in a church dedicated to his saint?" Figg asked.  
  
"It makes sense. He dedicates his evil to his saint and his god. That's why the first boy was found near one," Fletcher explained.  
  
"Only problem is, can we find the boy in this building before he gets killed? The only advantage we have is that we're so soon in working," Moody growled. Fletcher pulled out a map that Grimwald made.  
  
"He was able to see Mary, right? A, quote, 'Picture of Mary holding Jesus.' That's right over there, Moody."  
  
Alastor Moody is a hard man to anger, but he was pissed off right now. He ran over to the window, smashing through it. He rolled on the floor as he landed, snapping up with his gun cocked and ready.  
  
There was no one there.  
  
He continued to search the floor, eyes sweeping for the slightest hint of movement.  
  
It was the sound that gave it away. The satisfied grunt of sexual release.  
  
Moody ran over to the source of the noise. There was the boy, bound, gagged, and bleeding. The kidnapper was also there, pulling out of the boy as he grinned in a way that showed he was sated for now. He also was bleeding, but Moody didn't care.  
  
Moody shot the man in the back twice. The man turned around, growling.  
  
"Whaddaya think you're doing?" he hissed.  
  
"Step away from the boy! I mean it!" The man did, but he stepped towards Moody, who cocked his gun again in anticipation. "Fletcher, Figg, Wayne! Get the boy out of here! I'll take care of the father!"  
  
The man hissed again. "That bitch took my boys away. You're not giving them back to her. I just wanted to give them a present."  
  
"You sicken me," Moody snarled behind clenched teeth. He fired again.  
  
He wasn't missing, the shots just had no effect. He couldn't figure out why not. He kept shooting.  
  
The man jumped, tossing the gun aside. He started to shift forms, his hand becoming a wolf's paw, complete with claws. Moody didn't have the time to realize this when the man had scratched him,raking across his face, taking his right eye and a chunk of his nose.  
  
Moody ignored the pain and the lack of sight, bringing the gun up again. He loaded it right under the man as the other resumed his attack, saying a chant. He fired once more into the man's heart.  
  
"Rot in Hell, you perverted fuck," Moody whispered sharply as the man jerked back in pain.  
  
"Moody!" Fletcher yelled. "Are you alright, Moody?"  
  
"I'll live. He won't. The boy?"  
  
Wayne said calmly, "A few heavy cuts and bruises, but he'll live. The man had not gone easy on him sexually, though."  
  
"I don't think therapy will help any, though," Figg added. "We should check after the full moon. If he's got 'Daddy's Gift', he'll not need it."  
  
"So it's true, lycanthropes can't be harmed by normal bullets..." Fletcher shivered. "Never thought I'd face one."  
  
"Normally they don't act this severely. Most of them are good people, actually. Lucky for us all, especially the boy, I knew that lead- to- silver spell."  
  
"Silver fucking bullets... We should custom order those."  
  
Moody smiled at his protégé. "Now that is the best fucking idea you've ever had, Fletcher." 


	2. December 1969

Let the Children Play  
And if that diamond ring turns brass  
  
Daddy's gonna buy you a looking glass  
  
And if that looking glass get broke  
  
Daddy's gonna buy you a billy goat  
  
And if that billy goat don't pull  
  
Daddy's gonna buy you a cart and bull  
  
And if that cart and bull fall down  
  
You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town.  
  
-Old children's nursery rhyme  
  
* * *  
  
"Spoiled rotten little bugger, isn't he?" a boy pressed against the window scoffed as he listened to the lullaby. He turned away, shivering in the December chill and allowing his long black hair and thin scarf to flare around him, providing a minimal but much desired warmth. He never felt it, even when his parents were alive. Oh, he wasn't bitter, because the feelings for them were mutual, but still, he always hated it when parents pretended to love their children from some twisted Darwinian instinct to protect your genetic line until they could reproduce on their own.  
  
In short, he couldn't trust relationships. No, he would never fall in love or pretend to love anyone. He may feel something akin to a relationship, but at best it would be mutual lust or fraternity, never love.  
  
Deciding not to think much on what he already had deliberated as fact, he went to find himself supper. 'Hmm. Italian? Nah, had it last night. Chinese is too spicy, sushi is raw. How about steak then?' he debated, walking down the street. He ran behind a restaurant, pushing the back door open, and snuck inside. He waited until one of the servers had finished grilling a steak and potato dinner and setting it on a plate to be served, when he grabbed the plate from the window and ran outside, ignoring the yelling following him.  
  
He sat down in another alleyway several blocks away, happily eating the food.  
  
The boy was ten years old today, and his name was Russell Black.  
  
He never knew that.  
  
* * *  
  
In a London mansion nearby, James Harold Potter was sleeping casually in a hammock in his spacious back yard. James was nine, wore glasses, had the most severely unruly black hair anyone who'd met him had ever seen, and was exactly as spoiled as Russell would have said he was if he were to see him. After all, James's family was quite well-to-do. Better than most. And James Harold Potter took advantage of that every chance he could.  
  
Right now he took advantage of it by having a butler serve him hot apple cider and biscuits with little chocolate bits in them.  
  
James's family was very well off.  
  
Which was one reason they were being targeted.  
  
* * *  
  
The boy finished his steak and potato and held up the plate, deciding it wasn't of a good enough quality to sell high and tossing it aside. He got up to search for a place to stay for the night. He saw a large building, noting gladly there was a shed nearby. He also noted that the boy outside looked about his height, so he could possibly steal some new clothes, amongst other things. He smiled as he snuck over the fence, crawling into the shed where he curled up for the remainder of the day so as to be well- rested for his nocturnal activities.  
  
He dreamt about his family, who'd died in a airplane accident. His mother and father hadn't loved him, and explicitly told him such. He never knew his name because they never called him by it, opting instead for "Boy", or "Boy" with whatever negative adjectives they could think of before it. He knew his last name was "Black" because he could read the sign on their mail box, but he never heard a first. So all he knew was the "Black Boy". Maybe he should just assign himself a first name. Hmm. He'd have to think about it. Something snazzy and original and self-esteem boosting. Oh well.  
  
He awoke at dusk to sneak into the house. The door was locked, as were the windows, but the third floor had one open, and it looked to be an easy climb. He spat on his hands and jumped up to the top of the porch overhang. He caught it, pulling himself up to stand on it, and ran over to a window box nearby. He jumped over to it, landing on it with a smooth expertise, but only staying for a second to judge his next jump before jumping on to the next box, then another. He was two levels beneath the window he wanted to go inside now, and he vaulted up to grab the next box above him but almost missing as his hand grabbed a chunk of loose plaster. He pulled himself up, mentally chastising himself for his sloppy catch but moving on to the next regardless. He caught the box for only a second, then he flipped himself into the open window and rolled onto the floor with a practiced ease and silence.  
  
He blinked. A library, and a rather extensive one at that. He had always been fond of books, and perhaps he could find many he wanted to keep. He resolved to make a pile of books he wanted to keep from the shelves, and to steal some luggage so he could carry them. He read through the shelves, finally choosing several tomes. One on the complete world history, one on Dark Creatures and Demons, one Practical Magic, several by ancient philosophers and religions, and a few classic novels. He also took a star chart since he never knew the names of the stars he worked by. He looked out the window at the brightest one and read the name from the map.  
  
"Sirius." He smiled. "That's what I'll call myself, after the brightest night star. Sirius Black. Bright and Dark and all far away." He stacked the books, the chart, and a map of the world he'd also found nearby in a corner by the door. He went into the hallway.  
  
The halls were filled with valuable and beautiful art. He felt rather awkward in such an exquisite place, but he left it to his unease inside any new place. He continued on, looking for the boy's room.  
  
He stumbled on the parent's rooms instead. He was amazed at the sheer size of them, but he ignored it and instead went to look through the closets and drawers for things he could sell.  
  
He pulled open drawers, pocketing many small trinkets and the like. He knew what was worth his effort and what was too obvious to be missed, so he happily took about four hundred dollars worth of gems as opposed to a possible twelve hundred as a fair trade for security. He was about to stop when he saw a small gift wrapped package amongst the cuff links and watches in the man's drawer. Strangely drawn to it, he picked it up and opened it.  
  
Inside was a small glowing amber fang against a silver chain. There was something magic and beautiful about it, and he held it up, gasping as it seemed to resonate with soul. He wondered what it said, but he held it tight. It would obviously be missed because it was wrapped, but he didn't give a damn. He wanted it for himself.  
  
A slip of paper fell out with it, and he put it into his pocket, not bothering to read it.  
  
After a few more tries, he found the boy's room. He slid in quietly, smiling as he opened the closet and dresser drawers to have his pick of clothing, trying not to squeal in delight as he saw most of it did fit him. He finally decided on two pairs of black pants and a pair of black shorts, five plain black shirts and a pair of sturdy sandals. He put all of these in a nondescript black carrying case he found in the room- The boy had had over forty sets of luggage, but the bag Sirius had found was among the few without "James" "Potter" or "JHP" on them, and it was big enough for his clothes and books. He packed the books in the bag when he'd returned to the library, and he wrote a note that he left on the table.  
  
YOUR SON IS QUITE SPOILED, ISN'T HE? -SIRIUS BLACK. P.S. YOU WON'T KNOW THE NAME, AND YOU CAN'T FIND ME.  
  
Satisfied, Sirius jumped out the window, rolling as he hit the ground so as to lessen his risk of injury.  
  
* * *  
  
James rose from bed at a little after seven thirty to get ready for school. He uneventfully walked downstairs to eat his breakfast, dressed in his school uniform and packed for school. In fact, most of the morning was pretty uneventful.  
  
Until James heard his father yell out that something had been stolen.  
  
James felt violated. He should never have to loose anything, and he should own everything.  
  
James's father ran downstairs, clutching an empty green velvet bag and a matching bag in purple that seemed full, muttering that at least the purple bag hadn't been spotted or that would have been stolen as well.  
  
"What could possibly be so very important that it makes you this angry, father?" James drawled, careful to sound apathetic.  
  
"Your tenth birthday present!" his father hissed.  
  
James choked on his toast. "What?! Something of mine was taken?"  
  
"Yes!" His father sighed. "I'll just get something else, something less special."  
  
Special. James wanted special. "No! I want my present!"  
  
"James, your birthday isn't for another three months."  
  
"You said it was special!"  
  
"Yes, it was. And one day, I'll find another one for you. I promise."  
  
James scoffed. He should own everything. Why was his father being so distraught about the gift one second, then ignoring it?  
  
"What was it?"  
  
"A necklace."  
  
Jewelry. Hah, as if he would ever wear such a thing. But he should own it, regardless.  
  
"If it's that, then I don't want it anyway."  
  
"Good, because someone else has it, James." James's father sat down, sighing as he held the purple bag. "Whoever took it might as well have this as well."  
  
"I want it."  
  
"No, James, this was never for you." But James could hear it was a lie.  
  
"What is it that you're hiding from me, father?"  
  
"I got a note from the thief, James. And he pointed something out about you. Something I tried to ignore, but it is true."  
  
James was rapt now.  
  
"You're spoiled rotten."  
  
James got up, angry. "How dare you! When you're the one who's blasé about my gift!"  
  
James's father merely laughed, and he kept laughing as James left for school.  
  
* * *  
  
Sirius realized several hours later that he should have stolen food. But he didn't care.  
  
The necklace shone almost addictively. Sirius stared at it for a long time, wondering what the beautiful turquoise glow meant. He remembered the paper that came with it, and he fished it out to read it.  
  
AMBER DRAGON FANG. A FANG FROM A DRAGON THAT DIED LONG AGO, PRESERVING ONE TOOTH IN AMBER. WHILE NOT UNCOMMON, IT IS SOMEWHAT RARE. CONSIDER YOURSELF PROUD TO OWN SOMETHING SO VALUABLE.  
  
THIS FANG HAS A SPELL INTERWOVEN INTO IT, A SPELL THAT CONNECTS IT TO THE ANCIENT POWER AND MAGIC OF THE CREATURE THAT GAVE ITS LIFE FOR YOU TO OWN THIS. THIS SPELL CAN BE RECOGNIZED BY A GENTLE, TRANSFIXING TURQUOISE GLOW. THE GLOW MEANS IT HAS A MASTER WORTHY OF THE SPELL, SOMEONE MAGICAL ENOUGH TO FOLLOW IT. KEEP THIS FANG SAFE SHOULD IT GLOW.  
  
IF IT GLOWS, LET THE FANG TOUCH A DROP OF YOUR BLOOD. IT SHALL STOP GLOWING UNTIL THE DAY YOU FIND YOUR SOULMATE, WHEN IT WILL GROW A DEEP GREEN. THAT IS THE GIFT THE FANG WILL GIVE, THE CHANCE FOR TRUE LOVE.  
  
"It shouldn't stop glowing," Sirius decided. He read on.  
  
HOWEVER, IF THIS GEM SHOULD GLOW FOR MORE THAN TWENTY FOUR HOURS, THE MASTER OF THE GEM WILL DIE FROM THE GLOW. APPEASE IT, KEEP IT SAFE, AND HIDE IT FROM ALL BUT THE ONE YOU SHOULD SHARE IT WITH. HAPPY LOVE, AND HAPPY LIFE.  
  
Sirius gulped. If he hadn't been so transfixed by the glow, he would have denied it could kill him. "I'll never fall in love regardless. I guess allowing the spell to work won't hurt me." He pricked his left index finger and rubbed the bleeding finger along the side of the amber. The glow diminished immediately, and he almost felt a pain as it stopped. However, he slid it around his neck, vowing to never show it to anyone nor ever take it off.  
  
It felt cool against his neck. He grinned at his prize, tossing the paper away and grabbing his book on dark creatures.  
  
* * *  
  
James gave up on the missing gift when he got home, deciding his father would find something better to replace it with.  
  
He ran to the library to read a book about magic. He wasn't allowed to use it, which is exactly why he was quite good at it. He pulled out a tome about spells to transform objects, still trying to learn the spell to turn himself into a animal. Or to get a car to fly, he wanted to learn that one too, but that was in another book. He grinned as he read it.  
  
Spoiled, was he? Not when his father denied him access to this very library.  
  
He was sick of it, really. He put the book under his arm and ran to his room, where he could read it in private.  
  
* * *  
  
The money from the jewelry was worth while, but Sirius decided that he wanted to steal from the spoiled boy anyway. No one should own that much, not one family. Especially not when right outside was someone impoverished.  
  
He leapt up like he had the night before, this time taking more care as he ascended to the second floor window by jumping up to it earlier. He stole more books, mostly on dark creatures, and a few on ancient mythologies of the world. He was utterly captivated by the dark beasts from his first text, and found a few that were specific to dragons and werewolves, which he decided were his favorites.  
  
Maybe one day he would be a scholar in such things. Provided scholars got well paid, of course. No more living on the streets when he was an adult, he had always vowed. And Sirius Black took his vows seriously.  
  
He ignored the parents' room that night, instead heading straight to the boy's. He wondered what he could take this night.  
  
The boy obviously owned a lot of jewelry he never wore, Sirius decided. He was fond of the stuff himself, in the necklace and earring variety if they weren't too feminine or showy. Thieves wore jewels. It was that simple. He picked up one piece he was certain the boy never wore because it was still in its protective bag. It was lovely, he decided, a small platinum chain interwoven with three very small crystal and sapphire gem-inlaid charms. The first was an Ankh, the second a cross, and the third a star. He tried to put it over his neck, but it wouldn't fit, and it was too big for a bracelet, so he slid it over his ankle, where he was glad to see it not only fit perfectly, but looked great in contrast to the black leather and heavy cotton of his shoes and pants.  
  
He continued to rummage through the drawer, but found no new treasures he would keep for himself, although he did keep several to resell. He remembered that he wanted food, so he left to head downstairs for the kitchen.  
  
He had never before seen so much food in his life as when he opened the refrigerator door. He took out several pies and chicken legs, even a whole ham, and some desserts like cake and treacle pudding and even some chocolates. He found some cellophane wrap and aluminum foil, wrapping the treats carefully and packing them in his bag. He had just begun to wrap a tightly packed clump of tuna casserole when he heard a gasp.  
  
In the doorway was a black haired boy in loose silk pajamas and nice slippers. Sirius guessed he was his age, and put the now-wrapped tuna in his bag and started on the pasta dishes he found.  
  
The boy continued to stare as Sirius finished with the food, grabbing a loaf of home-baked bread and a bottle of milk. The boy kept staring as Sirius closed the bag, and didn't stop as Sirius walked casually passed him. Once Sirius passed the doorway to the front hall, the trance was broken and Sirius ran up the stairs to the library window, where he jumped out.  
  
James followed, shocked. He saw Sirius jump out, landing in a roll that broke his fall painlessly and flipped him to his feet in one fluid motion, so he was able to run again without hesitation.  
  
James couldn't jump like that. He ran back downstairs and through the front door, chasing after Sirius.  
  
The second he stepped out of the house, he saved his own life, because while he was running after the much faster boy, his house suddenly went aflame.  
  
Sirius stopped running the second it started, feeling something in the air. He turned around to see what was happening, but his view was cut off by James, who had caught up with him and taken advantage of Sirius's distracted state to tackle him.  
  
"That food is mine!" James yelled.  
  
"You never went hungry, I suppose, or you'd know why I stole it! I've been stealing food since I was six, and you eat like the bloody queen mum herself!" Sirius pushed James off and stared.  
  
"What the hell.?" he started, looking back. James followed his gaze.  
  
"My. My house?"  
  
"Of course it's your house. It's the biggest one on the block. That's why I chose it to break into, of course."  
  
James looked ready to cry.  
  
"Oh, come on! Having no parents isn't that bad!"  
  
"It's not that. All my stuff!"  
  
"Who bloody cares about the stuff? The food, the monetary trade value. The books. I can't believe all those books are gone."  
  
James was aghast how anyone could care more about food than possessions, and be more depressed about books he'd never bother to read. The only two he would read, they were gone too, but they weren't so valuable.  
  
"Your parents."  
  
James didn't care.  
  
Sirius did.  
  
A voice behind them called, "You boys alright there?"  
  
James was crying, mostly over his stuff, so Sirius answered. "That was his house."  
  
"And you?"  
  
"I'm orphaned, too. Don't tell the service people, I couldn't stand a new home."  
  
The man laughed. "How about a job, then?" He held out a chain with a bead at the end, which glowed softly. "You boys are very strong magically, and I'm offering to train you in that."  
  
James looked up. "Really? Will you teach me?"  
  
The man shook his head. "It's both or neither, I'm afraid."  
  
Sirius nodded. "Maybe. What's your name? I'll consider it if I feel I can trust it."  
  
"Tom. Tom Riddle."  
  
Sirius glared. "I'll have to say no." There was something he didn't trust, but he couldn't place what it was.  
  
James looked pleadingly at Sirius. "All those books, Sirius, they taught magic. He's offering you what's in the books!"  
  
"And I have lots of food, too. You'll never need to steal again."  
  
"How did you know I-"  
  
"I've been watching you for a while now. Have you ever decided on a first name?"  
  
"It's Sirius. Sirius Black."  
  
"What a combination. The brightest and the darkest."  
  
"I like it."  
  
"And you, boy? You would be James Potter, correct?"  
  
James nodded.  
  
"Well, James, Sirius, meet your new brother."  
  
They looked, but saw no one.  
  
"You foolish boys, I meant each other."  
  
Sirius and James smiled then, feeling like they did have real families for the first time.  
  
And above all, a home.  
  
* * *  
  
James fell to the ground, sobbing, as Sirius merely rolled to the side and held out his hand, palm outstretched.  
  
Riddle growled. "NO, James! You were to dodge the rocks!" He kicked the downed boy. Sirius glared.  
  
"You need to find a focal magic! Your own is strong, yes, but it's hard to focus on it's own! That's what this training is for."  
  
Sirius said nothing, focused on nothing. He just glared.  
  
"Once you get good enough with native magic, you can use focal magic to enhance it!"  
  
Sirius whispered a few words, and Tom turned to him.  
  
"What are you saying, boy?!"  
  
Sirius kept chanting, and then Tom felt it. His left foot burned, and he saw the small flame beneath it.  
  
"Without focal magic, a beginner. Firecasting's advanced magic, Black!"  
  
Sirius said nothing.  
  
Tom laughed. "Good job, boy."  
  
"Teach me focus. To enhance it."  
  
"Why? You have it on your own, Sirius. I'm proud."  
  
"I want to learn, so I can kill you."  
  
And Tom Riddle just laughed more. 


End file.
